


Holding

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Dominance, Ficlet, M/M, Mirror Universe, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek rewards Khan for the completion of an assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Main

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sarek’s acutely aware of the man in his peripherals. He can smell the faint lavender wash from an earlier bath, he can hear the quiet breathing, and he can sense the bulk of presence that a normal slave should not carry. But then, very little about Khan Noonien Singh is _normal_ , and that is precisely why he’s being trained in the Vulcan consulate, where his towering, inhuman strength and intellect won’t get him nearly so far.

To a Vulcan, Khan is an impressive human specimen. But he’s human, nonetheless. He’s duller and weaker than Sarek, however grand he thinks himself, and he’s learned enough to at least stay still and wait for Sarek to acknowledge his presence. As the Vulcan ambassador on Earth, Sarek does much more important things for the Empire than simply train unruly slaves.

It takes little more than five minutes for Sarek to finish, but when he finally turns to his visitor, he can see the tightness in Khan’s face. He’s an impatient thing, for a man that skipped three centuries. Or perhaps he’s simply still having trouble learning to bow, though he must know, by now, that the Empire woke him for nothing else. 

He receives a curt nod of Sarek’s head, and he strolls closer, his tight, black pants showing every curve and muscle of his perfect body. Physically, at least, he requires no changes. He reaches the side of Sarek’s desk, and he announces smoothly in his deep, too-sensual voice, “I’m done.”

“Naturally,” Sarek surmises. With a quick glance at the console on his desk and a single tap of his finger, he summons Stonn’s report—Khan has, for the fifth time today, pleased three young Vulcans at once. A high feat for a human slave. He should fetch a healthy price once he’s sold, should he ever lose the undeniable, ruthless will to escape. For now, he’s completed his assigned duty. Sarek skims the notes of his three chosen subordinates and mentions, “However, you have taken thirty minutes longer than my projections.” He fixes Khan with a level stare, and, to the augment’s credit, sees no response.

A month ago, perhaps, Khan would’ve stated that he couldn’t possible be held to the unspoken expectations Sarek arbitrarily assigned him. Sarek would argue that, in fact, he could, but it wouldn’t matter—any response at all would not be welcome. Sarek holds no illusion that Khan has broken since then; he’s simply learned a better way to survive. 

Whether he’s biding his time or not has no bearing on Sarek’s original promise, and he does push back enough from the desk, spreading his legs just slightly. Khan correctly interprets the gesture and, with immense grace, climbs into Sarek’s lap. He sits too regally, with his well-built body arched and his legs spread around Sarek’s waist, his strong fingers falling to Sarek’s shoulders. He’s heavy, but for Sarek, it’s nothing. Sarek lifts a hand back and presses into Khan’s smooth, bare stomach; he is, undeniably, beautiful. Perhaps the most handsome human Sarek has ever known. He sits obediently still while Sarek runs two fingers appreciatively down his front, pausing before the low-riding hem. 

Then Sarek undoes the front of Khan’s tented pants, and he carefully extracts Khan’s impressive member: a thick, pink thing, already pulsing with need and as hard as it can be with the controlling ring tight around the base. Human cocks do take some getting used to, but Sarek finds Khan’s as enticing as they come, and it would be a lie to say he doesn’t find at least some small pleasure in his job. 

He wraps his fingers wholly around Khan’s cock, and he glances up to ask, “You believe you have earned this reward?”

A look flashes in Khan’s eye. His history shows him used to winning great battles, reaping castles and riches for reward. A cold handjob at the end of a long day is now the best he can hope for, and too many seconds later, he replies, “Yes, Ambassador.”

“You will report when my duties are finished to explain the details of how.” As he talks, Sarek presses his thumb to the cockring and lets it release in response—as soon as it snaps open, Khan grunts back a gasp. His body straightens, hips pressing ever so slightly forward into Sarek’s fingers, and Sarek, as pleased with his pet as he’s capable of, begins to stroke Sarek’s cock. 

Though Khan’s arms wrap themselves around Sarek’s shoulders, he nearly hisses, “What does it matter? I’ve done it.” When Sarek lifts an eyebrow, Khan’s head lowers in concession; that tone was out of line. Nevertheless, this is progress for him, and Sarek continues the gesture. He doesn’t feel the need to answer; he needn’t justify himself to a slave. In truth, he can never be sure if Sarek’s younger attendants reach their pleasure simply because Khan is _pretty_ or if he’s actually worked hard. He’s too attractive to get by on just results. Even now, Sarek makes him half work for the handjob; Sarek’s strokes are short and light by design. He lets Khan do the rest, rocking more and more into him. 

Eventually, Khan breaks and asks, though it’s through gritted teeth, “May I move?” His breath is short. After being tied to long, his body is always eager for release; his determination and stamina are both remarkable. Sarek nods once, and Khan unabashedly begins to hump Sarek’s hand, all care thrown to the window. 

As Khan’s pace increases, his arms tighten around Sarek’s shoulders. His fingers dig into the back of Sarek’s tunic, and his breathing becomes more ragged. Sarek stops moving his hand entirely, allowing Khan to simply pleasure himself against Sarek’s body. It isn’t typical of slave training, but then, Sarek finds often that rewards can be just as effective as punishments, whatever the Empire might say. Khan’s reward is this small moment of solace where, after he’s seen to the needs of the rest of the Vulcan consulate, his own needs are paramount. 

He is, at the end of the day, a very human male. 

He pounds himself into Sarek’s patient form until his skin is too warm and his grip is too tight, and then he shivers and moans. His face twists gorgeously, and he cries out, body tensing as it finishes. Sarek can see and hear and smell his orgasm, and for a moment, his pleasure is enough to be sensed even mentally. Khan spills himself in Sarek’s palm, still milking the aftermath. 

Sarek lets him finish and slow on his own. There’s a sanitizing towel in one of Sarek’s drawers that he reaches around Khan to pull out, and he cleans himself before using the dirtied cloth to attend to Khan’s flagging member. Then he tucks it back into its confines and leaves Khan’s pants open: a better view. 

He places the ring on his desk and reaches to stroke the small of Khan’s back, announcing, “For your obedience, you will have the night free.” Although ‘free’ is a very loose term in the Empire; no one is every really _free_.

Khan catches on quickly and asks, tone even, “May I also choose where I spend it?” 

Sarek lifts another eyebrow. Slaves have their own place, but a man like Khan is a pity to waste not in someone’s bed. Sarek decides aloud, “So long as you utilize the opportunity to further your sexual education, then you may.” It’s a generalized idea; in many ways, Khan requires no sexual education.

He answers quickly, to Sarek’s mild and easily concealed surprise, “May I have the honour of sharing your bed tonight, Ambassador?”

Before the words are even out of his lips, his hand’s slipped down Sarek’s shoulder, index and middle finger held tightly together and finding Sarek’s hand. He tilts his face and leans it fractionally in, as though to kiss Sarek’s mouth, if permitted. 

Merely curious, Sarek doesn’t stop him. Khan presses his bow lips into Sarek’s, soft and smooth and a little moist, and his fingers bend around Sarek’s: a human and a Vulcan kiss at once. Sarek remains completely still until Khan pulls back, just enough to press a chaste, lingering kiss to Sarek’s cheek. 

“You would be a worthy lover, Ambassador,” Khan dares to purr in Sarek’s ear, caressing Sarek’s hand with more skill and intimacy than most full-Vulcans. He learns quickly: a dangerous quality. 

Though Khan is undeniably talented, beautiful, and intoxicating, Sarek possesses a strength and wisdom that Khan couldn’t hope for. With gentle hands, he tugs Khan’s head away by the hair, and he breaks all their contact. Sarek holds Khan back and gazes into burning, colour-shifting eyes to coolly scold, “Despite any predilection you may believe I have for humans, it is a fruitless effort to attempt to seduce me. You will not gain an ally in me, and you will not be released as anything more than the Empire has granted you. Nor do I hold the power to reassign your allotment even should I wish to.”

A lesser man, perhaps, would attempt to stroke Sarek’s ego—argue that he could. But Khan is more intelligent than that, and he clearly sees no point. 

His mouth is a thin line, and his face is pure restrained fury. Rejection isn’t something he responds well to. Because he is, despite everything, human, Sarek allows him to feel. 

Sarek will not, however, respond to that emotion, and he lifts one of Khan’s knees, guiding Khan off him. Khan complies, rises, and stands taut beside Sarek, gazing coldly down with an edge of calculating reassessment. 

He asks tightly, “May I still share your bed tonight?” 

Sarek’s already turned back to his console, but he does nod. If he ordains to partake in Khan’s body, that’s his right. It will hold no bearing on his views of Khan, but it may still bring his own pleasure. If Khan wishes to present himself to that, regardless of any personal gain, so be it. When Khan doesn’t leave, Sarek announces, “I believe I will be at work for another two point four hours.” It’s Khan’s turn to nod, and he turns. 

Khan walks towards the door, and, out the corner of Sarek’s peripherals, he derives a small enjoyment from the view.


	2. ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Drabble for anon’s “dirty talk, a slave trying to beg to be let out of his cage” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).

“ _Please_ ,” Khan tries, and to his credit, it’s a silky, seductive purr and not the angry, bit-back growls of earlier.

His improvement has no bearing, however, on his release. Sarek continues his work at the desk on the other side of the bed from Khan’s cage. Simply because his shift at the Vulcan consulate is over is no reason for him to not finish his analysis of the existing Freelan trade routes. They’re a little _too_ perfect, and in the Terran Empire, that’s always cause for suspicion.

Khan, naturally, has no interest in the happenings of other systems. Out the corner of Sarek’s eye, he can see Khan’s hands press at the force field between the bars, and he lifts up on his knees, dark hair just barely safe within the confines of the small animal cage. If Khan were any other slave, he might warrant one more sizeable. But he isn’t. He’s exponentially more dangerous, and his pleas don’t fool Sarek for a second. 

He purrs all the same, “Ambassador, _please_. You’ve left me in here so long, and all I want is a taste of you—is that so much to ask? If you let me out, my only actions would be towards your _pleasure_.”

He lies too easily. Sarek is un-swayed. Khan makes a frustrated twitter and flattens himself along the prickling barrier, his bare chest and handsome face and clawing arms visible over the edge of the bed between them. More fiercely, Khan rumbles, “I was a king, once. If you release me, you will have all of that skill beneath your fingertips...”

“You were a tyrant,” Sarek says simply, the greater part of his mind still focused on his calculations. Khan is a pretty distraction, nothing more. “If you must bring up the past, I will suggest that this is simply an adequate punishment for your slaughtering of millions.” Or less than adequate. This is no jail. Khan has been fed, given water, groomed, and he will be released when he has ‘learned his lesson’ over what he did to Sarek’s attendant, though in truth, Sarek has little faith of when that will be. Nonetheless, Khan Noonien Singh more than deserves those bars, and inside them he will stay, until Sarek, and no one else, deems otherwise.

Khan still hisses, “That’s not what happened,” and slinks minutely down. But he only takes a few moments to compose himself. Then he tries again, pressing his chest hard enough into the force field for it to spark around his rosy nipples, and he moans raunchily, “Why don’t you punish me properly? You can’t spank me in here, and I think we both know I’ve been a very, very bad boy, and my pert ass more than deserves the feel of your hand...” 

When Sarek’s head turns to face Khan, the veiled smirk that awaits him is entirely too smug. Khan makes a deep whimpering noise in the back of his throat, an exotic, heady thing that would leave a lesser man’s knees weak. Sarek merely watches as the beautiful augment writhes against the makeshift glass and whines so very enticingly, “Sarek, _please_ , I’ll be so _good_ for you. I know I’ve been naughty in the past, but that’s why I need you to throw me over your lap and hold me down and spank me until I’m raw... I want to learn my lesson at your hand... I want to be at your side, at your feet, kneeling before you... I want to show you how sorry I am. I want to kiss up your thighs and taste your huge, hard Vulcan cock on my tongue. Why would you leave me here, all alone, when you could be gagging me on your dick? A naughty boy like me should be stuffed full of his master’s cock—don’t you want to fuck my throat? _That_ would teach me a better lesson, don’t you think? Look at me.” His iridescent eyes, so rarely the same colour, flicker hungrily at Sarek, and his face nuzzles into one of the bars, while his long fingers trail down his chest. He’s utterly _gorgeous_ , whatever else he is—that much is undeniable. Sarek can’t see his cock from here, but Sarek has no doubt that Khan’s managed to school it alluringly hard. His pretty hair slips out of his eyes as he throws his head back, moaning worse than an Orion slave. “Can’t you see how much I _want_ you? All I want is to be _yours_ , Ambassador, I’ll do _anything_ for you. If you just let me out of here, I can show you my loyalty, my reverence—I’ll lick your feet and accept any form of punishment you so ordain to give me...”

Without even bothering to stall the program on his computer, Sarek rises from his chair. He strolls slowly around the bed, while Khan continues to beg and writhe like neither the obedient slave he claims nor the monstrous dictator he is. This is his danger, and this is _precisely_ why it’s befallen Vulcans, rather than his fellow humans, to train him back down from a genocidal overlord. 

Sarek ignores Khan’s pliant grin and Khan’s plush, begging lips, and Sarek takes hold of the thick duvet of his bed. He promptly tosses it over the cage, noting absently Khan’s shocked expression. Sarek’s already walking back around to his desk by time the infuriated cries break out, but at least this time, they’re muffled.


End file.
